


Second Chance

by IntoTheRiverStyx



Series: Requests/challenges/etc [21]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheRiverStyx/pseuds/IntoTheRiverStyx
Summary: Galahad knew many things, things both given to him and earned. Some gifts were kind things, people who wanted to make the dangerous path God had crafted for the boy a little less treacherous. Some gifts were almost cruel, people who thought God would not send another child to their death because the sins of there forebears were forgiven. These people, deep down, wanted to see how this Chosen Boy would handle their own self-inflicted mental wound manifested through words.But right now, the most important thing Galahad knew was where to find Percival when he was absent from breakfast.
Relationships: Galahad/Percival (Arthurian)
Series: Requests/challenges/etc [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673452
Kudos: 9





	Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [demeritus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demeritus/gifts).



Galahad knew many things, things both given to him and earned. Some gifts were kind things, people who wanted to make the dangerous path God had crafted for the boy a little less treacherous. Some gifts were almost cruel, people who thought God would not send another child to their death because the sins of there forebears were forgiven. These people, deep down, wanted to see how this Chosen Boy would handle their own self-inflicted mental wound manifested through words.

Galahad knew, too, many things he had learned on his own. He knew he liked the cold, sweet soups of summer, the way the berries turned to liquid felt on his tongue. He knew he loved when his bread was still warm, the steam rising when he broke it open drawing him into a trance-like state, the little white whisps ascending towards Heaven as he hoped to do one day.

Galahad knew how to dodge what would have been a killing blow. He knew how to roll in the middle of a battle, shield strapped to his arm and whatever weapon he'd managed to grab not striking his as he _survived_. He knew he preferred to fight on the ground than on horseback. 

But right now, the most important thing Galahad knew was where to find Percival when he was absent from breakfast.

He excused himself before those he'd sat with were finished eating, their conversation so lively it warranted their food growing cold. His own food had been more inhaled than eaten. He tucked two rolls into the pouch he had tied around his waist and set off.

He had Percival to find.

–

He was sure he could have followed this route blindfolded, his entire body so familiar with the ground and the new-growth branches whipping his arms as he climbed the pathless hill. They'd come here countless times, together, to get away from the noise of the castle and the weight of everyone's stares that took the place of questions about their shared destinies.

“Galahad?” Percival's voice came from just out of sight almost as soon as Galahad crested the hill.

“Always,” Galahad said it like a promise.

Galahad knew Percival was under an outcrop of rocks that may have been intentional a long time ago, perhaps a shelter for Knights or even foot soldiers doing patrols on their own who needed to make themselves disappear but also remain able to leap to their feet. 

Now, it was not much more than a well-worn series of stones that hid half of two people if they sat impossible close together. Their backs were supported, though comfortable when trying to use it to support one's full weight. Some of the tops of their head were covered, but the rest left exposed to the elements.

“I brought rolls,” Galahad announced as he pulled them out of his pouch before he sat down. He was so close to Percival that they became one shadow cast long in front of them, the early morning sun still low on the horizon.

“Thanks,” Percival did not seem excited about the food.

“Bad night?” Galahad let one of the rolls rest on Percival's knee.

“I guess,” Percival frowned, “Long night, at least.”

“Hmn,” Galahad made a noncommittal noise and started picking at his roll, little bits to occupy his hands rather than any lingering hunger.

“I'm sorry,” Percival said.

“For what?” the apology took Galahad by surprise.

“Being here,” Percival looked around, “making you come look for me.”

Galahad frowned and considered Percival's words carefully before responding. 

“I wanted to,” felt like the best possible response.

“But why?”

Percival's reply came so quickly that all Galahad could say was, “What's going on?”

Percival took a deep breath as if he might be trying to wrap everything in his head that had driven him away from the rest of his life at such an early hour. It might have worked, a moment of calm that might have grown into a different headspace – a more peaceful one that might have let him wrap up the demons in his own head that put his sins to shame into something manageable.

There was a second breath, taken so deeply it was as if Percival was using the air in his lungs to make space for the control he wanted so desperately to feel over his life. It was somewhere in that space his control slipped and everything he'd spent all night tucking away in neat little mental boxes escaped, his thoughts a jumble of things that seemed would never let themselves be untangled again. Some of them slipped out, ghosts in their own way.

“I've already failed,” he told Galahad as if he hadn't told the holier Grail Knight this more times than either of them knew numbers for.

Galahad waited, aware more words would come.

“Why do I have to do it again?” Percival asked.

And then.

“What if I fail again?”

A sob that could have belonged to either of them, a shared burden they knew was Right but would leave no happy things.

“What if I succeed?”

Percival seemed more afraid of the latter, seemed to think success would ruin something deep within him.

“What if I succeed and my life still isn't any different?” Percival put more words to it, “What if we come back with the Grail and heal the Wasted Lands and bring King Arthur the power to heal the fractures between Kingdoms and I am still remembered as the one who failed?”

“History will do whatever it is that history does,” Galahad remembered King Arthur saying something similar to his Champion, Galahad's own father, “If we act only when we think history will be kind, we will never do anything.”

“Doesn't really make me feel any better,” Percival muttered, “but thanks.”

“What would make you feel better?” Galahad asked.

“I don't know,” Percival admitted, “I don't know what better feels like, I think.”

Galahad leaned his head onto Percival's shoulder and sighed. Percival leaned his cheek on the top of Galahad's head. 

“I'm sorry,” Percival said again.

“I forgive you,” Galahad told him, “I do not see anything that needs forgiveness, but if forgiveness is what you need, I will still give it.”

Percival managed to stop himself from saying he did not deserve Galahad – the only fight they'd had with each other was over claiming to know what the other did and did not deserve in their life – but he felt it and rested his hand on Galahad's knee as if it might stop the fear Galahad would one day realize there were better things, better people to invite into his life.

“Eat,” Galahad prompted, “please.”

Percival did not see what good that would do, but nonetheless he picked up the roll and started taking small bites.

“Was it warm when you picked it up?” Percival asked after the third or fourth bite. Galahad nodded. “It still has that taste like bread does when it's new.”

“As if the kitchen staff would let anything sit overnight,” Galahad rolled his eyes. Percival felt a small laugh escape.

“Thank you,” Percival meant it.

“Any time,” Galahad did, too.

He finished his roll and looped one arm around Galahad's waist. Galahad took that as his cue to find a way to scoot even closer.

“I'm afraid,” saying it out loud seemed like a type of self-inflicted wound, “that I don't actually deserve my place at King Arthur's table and he is just taking pity on me because it was one of his wars my father died in.”

“Will words help you feel otherwise?” Galahad had managed to rest his head on Percival's chest and contort the rest of himself so that he was nearly on Percival's thigh.

“No,” Percival admitted.

Galahad made a sound that Percival interpreted as disappointment. He knew he'd thrown much of this at Galahad before, knew somewhere in the very near future he'd be saying everything he'd ever thought about being the wrong knight for the Grail, that there had to be another man named Percival whose father had also died in one of King Arthur's nameless wars that his destiny was meant for.

“I wish I knew how to empty out that head of yours,” Galahad informed him, “Chase those shadows that obscure the good you carry within you.”

Percival did not know what to say to that.

“There's a lot of good in you,” Galahad tried to assure him.

“Then why don't I see it?” Percival asked so quickly it was more of a wound long ignored become manifest than it was something that could be answered. Still, Galahad tried.

“Good men never see it in themselves,” Galahad pointed out, “for goodness that needs an introduction is not a type of goodness that is capable of holding up to pressure.”

**Pressure.** As if there had not already been enough pressure on Percival. As if the pressure hadn't wound up being the thing that sparked the chain reaction that resulted in nothing being changed. The Fisher King, Percival knew, was still out there, still ignoring his duties because he knew he could not carry them out. 

Some days, Percival wanted to do the same. He already knew he was capable of failing this Quest that did not seem to want to let him go. What if he turned his back on it, let himself be no more than a Knight whose station was given to them because of the circumstances of their birth and had merit trained into them? Would God really miss him?

“I'm glad your here,” Galahad relaxed against Percival's side, “and I'm glad it's you.”

There was so much left unsaid, so much Percival wanted so badly to hear. He wanted to hear that the youngest Grail Knight was glad it was Percival who shared such a heavy burden, that Galahad wanted Percival's company and was not seeking him out as a result of some sort of twisted sense of duty.

He left these things unsaid, unasked, the fear of them being unfair or requiring Galahad to lie to avoid upsetting him even more than he'd inadvertently spent the night upsetting himself.

“I can't fix everything,” Galahad started talking, “I can't even know for sure if I'll succeed in what God wants of me. I don't know if this will be the thing that makes Earth the paradise God has always wanted for His children. But I need to try.”

That made sense, Percival supposed. Galahad was always more forward-focused, seemed as if the future did not frighten him.

“I already tried,” Percival felt like he might be digging himself a hole, “Why again? Didn't I disappoint God and everyone else already?”

“Forgiveness,” Galahad said effortlessly, “is His most frequently given gift.”

It occurred to Percival that Galahad could be right about this. God had given His own son such that humanity might have another chance; perhaps it was not a huge leap of reason that Percival could be given another chance, too.

“A second chance,” Percival said aloud.

“You deserve it,” Galahad said quietly, his normal self-assuredness muted into something much more intimate, “You deserve to try again. To succeed.”

Galahad let his hand rest on Percival's, the scars they both carried – from training, from battle, from other stories left untold – catching in the light of the still-rising sun. There was a single story they told, Percival thought to himself, one that said it was not perfection that determined things like success and valor, but the ability to pick yourself up and keep going.

“Thank you,” Percival pressed his cheek against Galahad's head and squeezed Galahad's knee a little bit, “I think I can go back to the castle.”

“Can we stay here just a little while?” Galahad asked.

“Of course,” Percival rushed to assure him, “Are you alright?”

“Very,” Galahad's smile could be heard in his voice, “Just want to... _be here_ , you know?”

“Yeah,” Percival let his eyes close, “I do.”

They let the moment stretch on, the sun bringing morning into day as the air lost the crispness the night had brought.

Even though the doubt and hurt and feeling like he should be anywhere else in the world but Camelot would came back – it had a way of sneaking up on him in ways that took him out at the mental equivalent of his kneecaps – knowing that Galahad not only cared about him but had faith in his abilities made it a thing slightly less frightening.


End file.
